


The Price of Love

by Griselda_Gimpel



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Angst, Canon - Manga, Canon Compliant, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Genocide, Ishbal | Ishval, Love Triangles, M/M, One-Sided Attraction, Pining, Post-Canon, Post-Promised Day, Rare Pairings, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-04
Updated: 2019-08-04
Packaged: 2020-07-30 19:01:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20102086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Griselda_Gimpel/pseuds/Griselda_Gimpel
Summary: After the Promised Day, Scar, Major Miles, and Tim Marcoh work to restore Ishval, but more than the mesquite flowers are blossoming.





	The Price of Love

Dr. Tim Marcoh scooped up a handful of sand from the Ishvalan dessert and then let it slip through his fingers. The spring sun beat down on the back of his neck. It was approaching midday. The efforts to restore Ishval would halt soon, to be picked up again later in the afternoon, when it wasn’t quite so scorching.

Using his finger as a drawing tool, Marcoh swiftly drew the proper alchemy signs and then placed both palms flat on the circle. The usual cackle of alchemy at work followed. When it faded, a dozen glass vials lay in front of him. Glass and sand had the same essence, after all, and he could use imperfections in the glass to indicate the volume.

Careful not to drop them, Marcoh collected the vials and brought them into the hospital. The building was still mostly a shell made primarily of sandstone and glass, but he was beginning to stock the rooms with the appropriate instruments for medical care. Marcoh had come to Ishval to atone by working as a doctor, and the first step toward that was creating a place of healing, and it was with great care that Marcoh was making it.

Major Miles had offhandedly suggested the hospital be named after him, but Marcoh had shot the idea down right away. It was to be a place of his repentance, not a monument to his ego. Marcoh had thought long and hard about what name the hospital should bear. Eventually, he’d asked Scar what his brother had been called.

“Why do you ask?” Scar had answered guardedly. Marcoh had understood. Ishvalan names were sacred.

“I’d like to name the hospital after him,” Marcoh had explained. “If that’s all right with you, of course. If not, I can call it something else.”

“Adil al-Amin,” Scar had said. So it had become the Adil al-Amin Hospital.

After putting the vials away, Marcoh left the Adil al-Amin Hospital to find that Scar had returned from the fields. Scar had come to Ishval to restore the religion and culture of the Ishvalan people, but – as Scar had explained – the body needed nourishing before the spirit did. In the time since the Extermination Campaign had ended, the farms of Ishval had been left to grow wild. Only a handful of Ishvalans had returned to Ishval so far, and they mostly worked with Scar to get the farms back in order. Once Ishval could feed itself, more survivors of the genocide would be able to return.

“Let’s wash up and get lunch,” Scar said. Food was largely being brought in from East City or New Optain. It didn’t taste great, but it provided the necessary sustenance.

Marcoh followed Scar over to the well they’d recovered. Scar let out the brake so that the bucket dropped down into the depths of the well. Then he turned the wince to retrieve the bucket. Scar balanced the bucket on the edge of the well. Then he took off his shirt and began to splash water all over his arms and chest and neck and face. His well-defined muscles glistened in the sun. Marcoh hastily looked elsewhere. He felt lightheaded and wondered if he’d been in the sun too long.

“Marcoh?” Scar said. Marcoh turned back to him. Scar was still shirtless, and Marcoh got the sense that he’d said Marcoh’s name more than once.

“Yes, Scar?” Marcoh asked.

“Kink in the shoulder,” Scar said. “Could you put some pressure on my back? Left hand side.” He leaned over the well lip so that Marcoh would be able to reach him.

“What? Oh, yes, of course,” Marcoh said. Coming up behind Scar, Marcoh put his hands on Scar’s shoulder and began working out the kink.

Scar let out a sigh as something popped. “Good work,” he said. _Praised_. Marcoh’s body reacted before his mind could stop it. He took a step backwards. “Something wrong?” Scar asked.

“Nothing!” Marcoh said much too hastily. He turned quickly, so that Scar could not see him, and began jogging back to the hospital. “I think I forgot something!”

“I’ll save you a plate, then,” Scar said, his confusion evident.

Marcoh was out of breath by time he reached the inside of the hospital. He found a back storage room, scrunched himself in a corner, and beat his forehead with the palm of his hand.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” Marcoh berated himself. “He’d never be happy with you. You’re the reason his family is dead!” He repeated it over and over again until the sight of Scar’s shirtless chest faded from his mind’s eye, and he no longer heard Scar’s happy sigh in his ears.

Resolute, he went to the well, washed up, and then found Scar for lunch. He was sitting with Major Miles and his master under a strand of date trees. Scar had been good to his word and saved Marcoh some lunch.

“So what have you been working on?” Scar’s master asked his disciple. Scar’s master had been in and out of Ishval, visiting survivors who hadn’t returned yet. He was making copies of any Ishvalan writing that had survived, from the Holy Scriptures to recipe books to romance novels.

“The mesquite flowers are blooming,” Scar said. “I’m cultivating the seeds to be planted.”

“Are the flowers edible?” Miles asked.

“Yes,” Scar said. “I spotted some prickly cactus pears a little ways away, as well. I must have you try some when I can harvest it. Dessert life may be harsh, but Ishvala provides for his people.” Scar reached into pocket and pulled out a handful of seeds.

“Hard to see them,” Miles said.

“That is because we are in the shade, and you are still wearing those goggles of yours,” Scar said. “Why not take them off and show us your pretty eyes?”

Miles laughed. “For you? Absolutely.” He removed his goggles. A smile broadened across Scar’s face when Miles’ did so. Marcoh’s mouth went agape.

“Sorry,” Marcoh said, quickly recovering his composure. “It’s just, I’ve never seen you smile before, Scar.”

“Is there something wrong with it?” Scar asked, his expression souring.

“Oh, you stopped,” Marcoh said. “Um, er, it’s a good smile.” His face felt uncomfortably hot, and he was certain it was not just from the noon sun.

“Definitely a good smile,” Miles agreed.

“I’ll try to smile more then,” Scar promised.

The quartet finished their lunches and then turned in for the hottest part of the day. Marcoh had a room in the hospital where he slept. Settling onto his cot, he closed his eyes for an afternoon nap. In his sleep, he dreamed, and what he dreamed of was his first meeting with Scar.

“Take off your clothes,” Scar ordered in his dream. That could have been a memory, but after that, dream diverged from reality. In reality, Marcoh had answered “Huh?” and Scar had explained about his plan to fake Marcoh’s death. In the dream, Marcoh happily obliged, and Scar took a step toward him.

Marcoh woke with a start, breathing heavily. Pushing the light sheet off of him, he headed for the bathroom in the hospital. The plumbing was made of glass. Marcoh forced himself to think about that, instead of the dream, which he pleaded to leave his thoughts.

“You can’t make him happy,” he whispered to his reflection in the mirror above the bathroom sink.

_Glass_.

He’d been hesitant to use it. He’d been worried it would be too fragile. The earliest days in Ishval had been spent exploring how thick the glass needed to be in order to have the same integrity as brass. The end result was pipes that were far thicker than brass pipes would have been, but this was offset by the minimal cost which they took to produce. Once more settlers arrived, Scar planned to start preaching the holiness of alchemy; Ishval would need practicing alchemist to sustain itself.

Once the spring sun had dipped a bit in the sky, everyone returned to their duties. There’d been a great deal of used clothes donated from Amestris for the rebuilding effort. Most of it was far too stained or torn to be worn as is, but where alchemy was concerned, cloth was cloth. Some of it would be remade into traditional Ishvalan clothing. Other donated items would become sheets for the hospital beds. Marcoh had set himself upon this task when Scar came up him.

“Marcoh,” Scar said, “could I speak to you?”

Marcoh’s throat went raspy. _He’s noticed_, he thought. He nodded his head, not trusting himself to speak.

“I’ve spent years focused on retribution,” Scar began, “and on survival. I gave myself no time to dwell on matters of the heart.”

“Matters of the heart?” Marcoh echoed in a much higher pitched voice that he would have liked.

“Yes,” Scar said. “There is someone I am finding myself attracted to. I do not just mean physical attraction, either. I feel as though my heart is connected to the heart of this man.”

“A man?” Marcoh repeated. It was about all the conversation he could manage. His own heart was beating so hard he could barely hear his own words.

“Ishvala permits it,” Scar said mildly. “That is not the issue. Although...”

“Yes?”

“The man might be one my fellow Ishvalans think I should regard as an enemy,” Scar said. He smiled again, the second smile Marcoh had seen on him. Scar continued, “I’d like to think of him as a friend.”

“Oh. Um,” Marcoh managed. He wasn’t sure what to say or do. He considered just falling over. That seemed a likely event in the near future, in any sense.

“So I wanted to know,” Scar said.

“Yes, Scar?”

“Do you think that Major Miles likes me?”

“What.”

Scar looked down. “I suppose he probably doesn’t. I appreciate your honesty in this manner.”

“No, that wasn’t what I meant,” Marcoh said softly, but Scar had already turned and left. “Oh, bother.”

Marcoh returned to his work, only for Miles to approach him soon after.

“Good afternoon, Major.”

“Could you come to my tent?” Major Miles asked.

“Of course,” Marcoh said. It was a large tent, very sparse, as fitting a Briggs man. There was a cot along the back side and a desk and chair before that.

“I need to know how much it’s going to cost to train doctors for the Adil al-Amin Hospital,” Miles said. He flipped through the expense report forms on his desk. “The plan is to train Ishvalan settlers who are interested, correct?”

“Correct,” Marcoh said.

Heinkel stuck his head in the tent. Behind him, Marcoh could just barely see Darius. “Yoki sat on a cactus,” Heinkel said. The two chimeras and Yoki had offered to help with the rebuilding process, although as of late they were talking about forming a circus.

“Why did Yoki sit on a cactus?” Miles asked before sighing. “I’ll get this handled.”

“And I’ll get the expense reports for you,” Marcoh promised. Miles left with Darius and Heinkel. Marcoh picked up the expense forms from the desk and caught sight of the paper that was underneath. It was a half-finished letter. Marcoh knew he shouldn’t have read it, but curiosity had always been one of his vices. It was clearly a rough draft, with great portions struck through. It read:

_<strike>Scar</strike> <strike>My Dearest Scar</strike> <strike>My Brother in Ishvala</strike> Scar,_

_ <strike>I find you attractive.</strike> You speak of me as “brother”, but in my eyes, it is not a brother I see in you. <strike>Care to get dinner sometime? Just the two of us, I mean.</strike> I do not know what feelings you have toward me, but_

The letter ended there. Miles hadn’t gotten far enough to sign it, but Marcoh recognized his handwriting. He tightened his grip on the expense reports and left in a huff. He was in such a huff that he ran right into Scar’s master by the altar. It was going to be a proper Ishvalan temple eventually, but work on it had scarcely begun.

“I’m sorry!” Marcoh said. “I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going.”

“No harm done,” Scar’s master said. He brushed himself off. “Now, what has you in such a torrent?”

“Nothing!”

“Affairs of the heart?”

“What? How did you know?”

Scar’s master smiled. He had an easy, welcoming smile. “When a man rushes about in such a hurry he runs into an elder and then insists it’s ‘nothing’, it’s usually about love. That, or money troubles, but none of us have any money to be troubled about, now do we?”

“In that case, yes,” Marcoh admitted.

“Are you familiar with the great scholars of Xerxes?” Scar’s master asked.

“No,” Marcoh said. “Those texts had all already been banned by time I got to University.”

“Copies persisted longer in Ishval,” Scar’s master said. “Would you like to know what they said about love?”

“If it’s not too much trouble.”

“It isn’t,” Scar’s master assured him. He composed himself and then spoke. “The scholars of Xerxes thought there were many types of love.”

“Go on.”

“Well, there was _storge_,” Scar’s master explained. “That was familial love.”

Marcoh’s stomach plummeted. Scar had loved his family dearly, and because of Marcoh, they were dead. He said nothing out loud.

“_Philia_ was love between friends – the love you felt for your community.”

Solf Kimblee had used the Philosopher’s Stone that Marcoh had given him to devastate Scar’s hometown. Marcoh had taken Scar’s community away from him, as well.

“_Agápe_ is unconditional love, like I feel for Great Ishvala and that Ishvala feels for all of his children.”

“I like that one,” Marcoh said.

“And finally there’s _éros_, which is sexual love and passion,” Scar’s master concluded.

“That would be the trouble-maker.”

“It usually is.”

“Would you keep a secret?”

“Would anyone be harmed by the secret being kept?”

“No.”

“Then I promise to keep it in my confidence.”

“I feel _éros_ for Scar,” Marcoh confessed.

To his surprise, Scar’s master nearly doubled over laughing. It took him a full minute to catch his breath, and there were still tears in the corner of his eyes when he finally spoke. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I do not mean to laugh at your expense.”

“Why then?”

“Oh, it’s just, do you really imagine you’re the first man to break his heart over my disciple?” Scar’s master asked.

“He’s had other admires?” Marcoh asked.

“Oh, goodness yes!” Scar’s master said. “Half the youth of Kanda must have been hoping to turn his head. Alas for them, he had eyes only for God.”

_Not any more_, Marcoh thought. Out loud, he asked, “What should I do?”

“I think you know,” Scar’s master answered. “When it comes to affairs of the heart, the answer is usually already with us.”

Marcoh’s mind went to Miles’ letter, which Scar was ignorant of. “You’re right. I do know. Thank you for speaking with me.”

“I’ll let you be on then.”

“All right,” Marcoh said. He left the altar and headed to the fields, where Scar was hard at work. He was tilling the soil, and his muscles bulged with the strain of his labor. Marcoh forced himself to focus on what he had come there to do.

“Good afternoon, Marcoh,” Scar said when he saw him.

“Major Miles likes you,” Marcoh said.

“What?”

“I snooped,” Marcoh said. “He feels the same about you that you feel about him.”

For the third time that day, Marcoh had a chance to see Scar smile. “Thank you,” Scar said. “I should get over to those prickly cactus pears.”

Marcoh spied Scar and Miles later, talking before dinner. They stood eye to eye with each other, and as words were exchanged, happiness radiated off of them. Later that night, when the day winded down to the end, Marcoh came around the corner of the hospital to see them among the strand of date trees. Scar was relaxed with his back against a trunk. Miles was relaxed with his head rested on Scar’s chest. Scar had a plate of prickly cactus pears. As Marcoh watched, Scar picked up a piece and popped it in Miles’ mouth before taking another piece for himself.

“Delicious,” Marcoh heard Miles say after he had swallowed.

Marcoh turned around and walked the other direction, but he did not rush. He only wanted to give the two men their privacy. Marcoh smiled to himself as he walked. The scales of his deeds were not balanced, and he knew that they never would be, but he was pleased with himself. He had made Scar happy, after all. 


End file.
